


For Want Of Autumn Leaves

by totallylegit



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Character Study, Gen, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:25:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallylegit/pseuds/totallylegit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All things come in cycles. The seasons. The calendar. Visits from Batman. Escapes from Arkham.</p><p>A short, character-focused story of Calendar Man, mostly without plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Want Of Autumn Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of an amalgam of preboot Calendar Man, encompassing the Long Halloween version but referencing earlier incarnations of Julian. Mostly this is speculation on his motives and worldview, trying to make sense of his obsession.

Julian rarely wore shoes.

He did, sometimes, if the costume required it. He preferred not to, though. Shoes separated one from the ground, from what came underneath. Barefoot, he could feel the cold of snow, and how when it melted it turned the dirt into mud. Summer would dry it out, and the fallen leaves of autumn would give it a soft crunch.

Often, he would feel dull, temperate tile floors instead. He ached to feel the change of seasons.

It irritated him when people viewed him as a second-rate Holiday, even though the man had been dead for years (and Julian knew exactly how many years, down to the day). He did love holidays, but it was limiting. Confining. 

How easily they forgot that his very first crimes revolved around the seasons.

Autumn was next. When they let him out for some fresh air, he could smell it on the breeze. All seasons had a scent, but in the fall it was particularly distinct.

He would give anything to be able to stand in Robinson Park and watch the leaves fall.

Perhaps Clock King would break him out. Maybe the Time Foes would reunite. Julian was certain they would, one day at least. Time worked in cycles, ever repeating. It would be fitting.

And what was fitting, Julian would make sure would come true.

He'd have to get out somehow, by his own hand or someone else's. Scarecrow's, maybe? They could team up for Hallowe’en. That would be suitable. Technically, scarecrows were needed whenever there were fields to keep away from crows, and that could span months, but Crane’s particular obsession with fear made Hallowe’en the perfect date.

Though he wasn't sure if Scarecrow would. Julian had an odd relationship to the others; those who frequented Arkham, those that fought the Bat. Sometimes he was included in their rare moments of companionship, but not often. They didn’t seem to want to pay him any mind. Perhaps they saw him as too soft. But they undoubtedly recognized him as one of them. He knew this. He _knew_ this.

Footsteps, barely audible, brought him out of his reverie. Was it that time again?

Batman was here. To Julian’s irritation, there was no set schedule to which days Batman decided to turn up and how many in a row. It would be _so_ much easier if Batman could keep to a schedule. But, in better news, he always came back. A never-ending cycle, like all things.

Julian wondered who he was questioning today, and what for. He pressed up against the glass to see. 

The cape billowed, dramatically, of course. It was the bat’s nature. Hallowe’en would also suit him. Julian imagined fighting Batman on Hallowe’ en with Scarecrow. It would be perfect. He wanted it, with a deep longing he couldn’t even describe.

Batman stopped in front of his glass. Julian took a step back, staring up, only a flicker of surprise showing on his face. 

“Julian.”

“Calendar Man.” It was a gentle correction. He didn’t mind his name (he did have a fondness for the Julian calendar), but he _needed_ Batman to acknowledge his identity.

It was useless, however, barely even acknowledged. Batman continued on as if Julian hadn't said anything.

“I need your expertise.”

Julian raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.”

Batman held a paper, listing dates by month and day, and beside, notably separate, years. 

2nd March 1876  
16th April 1927  
18th May 1920  
2nd June 1835  
8th September 1765

Julian stared at the paper, thinking. The pattern was there, he saw it. It wasn’t tidy. Incomplete. Out of order. Jumping around, but not evenly.

“Who’s responsible for this?” he asked, unable to keep the disdain from his voice.

“I’m trying to find out.”

“What are they doing?”

“You don’t need to know.”

Julian pulled his fingers away from the glass and started playing with his lip, glancing away. He had the appearance of calm, the only sign of his frustration was how tightly his toes curled against the tiled floor, and how he tugged at his lip.

“There’s a connection. I know what it is. “

“Tell me.”

“Not until you tell me what they are doing.”

Batman ground his fist into the glass, putting a growl in his voice. “Tell me.”

“No.” Julian had seen him do this before. To him, to other inmates. Patterns. Cycles. Always coming back, always returning. Stalemate. He looked at Batman from the corner of his eye, heart thumping. He didn’t want new bruises.

Batman straightened. “I won’t give you the full details. Several charities were hit on these dates, the numbers etched into the doors.”

Julian pulled at his lip, turning back towards Batman. “Catholic charities?”

Batman grunted. He took that as a yes.

Julian leaned against the glass again, pressing his fingers up against it. “They’re birthdates. Second of March, 1876. Pius XII. Sixteenth of April, 1927, Benedict XVI. Eighteenth of May – “

“Popes. Of course.”

“It’s wrong,” Julian said. “They’re not even in order. Not even going backwards. Picking popes based on the month, but skipping months.” His fingers curled against the glass, until his knuckles turned white. “An abomination. I would do it differently.”

“Don’t.” Batman’s voice wasn’t his usual growl, or threat. It was calm, almost a little sad. Julian was taken aback. 

“What do you mean?”

“The wardens say you’re the perfect inmate, with some exceptions. You’ve been noted for good behavior.”

Julian didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t seen Batman speak with the Wardens. He didn’t know it was part of Batman’s routine. He filed the new information away, for later.

Batman continued. “You might be able to get out of here, legitimately. If you focus on your rehabilitation. I don’t want to have to drag you back here.”

Now came the scary voice. “Don’t make me regret vouching for you.”

The words were gone. All Julian could do was stare.

Of all his imaginings of how he would next leave Arkham, it never occurred to him that he might walk out the front door. But.

Halloween. Or a new season theme, bringing back the old. Or perhaps using birthday themed crimes to their full advantage. So many possibilities.

Julian knew that afterward he’d be thrown in Arkham again. In a way, that was fine. It was a cycle. Everything was a cycle. Winter turned to spring, New Year’s Eve gave way to New Year’s Day, Sunday led into Monday, crime turned into a cell. 

But for the first time in a long time, Batman had given him hope. That maybe it didn’t have to be that way, that maybe things could change. A new tradition. After all, new holidays were added to the Calendar every once in a while. A new aspect could be given to the Calendar Man’s life – freedom.

He resented it.

Batman left while his thoughts were still whirling. The Bat was never one for goodbyes. But he’d be back, eventually.

Julian sat down on the floor of the cell. His feet were cold. He wanted to feel the dirt between his toes. He needed to make a schedule for it.

By October, perhaps.


End file.
